


Chicago and Change

by Tassos



Category: NCIS, due South
Genre: Background Slash, Bob (genre), Case Fic, Community: helpthesouth, Crossover, Established Relationship, Gen, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, light on plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The NCIS team tracks a national security threat to Chicago's 27th precinct, but Harding Welsh doesn't have a hand to spare. Fortunately Fraser and Ray are in town for a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicago and Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sperrywink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sperrywink/gifts).



> Apologizing in advance for not knowing anything about the layout of Chicago and probably mixing up neighborhoods.
> 
> Also, there's not much actual plot here.
> 
> Written for the helpthesouth charity auction. It's late but here.

The 27th precinct was a dump. A hardworking dump, Gibbs would give them that, but clearly understaffed and underpaid if the mess of winos, prostitutes, and — Gibbs stopped short — women in horned helmets and armor were anything to go by.

"What you looking at?" the female Viking sneered, and the detective escorting her shoved her into the interrogation room and slammed the door shut. She turned to Gibbs and gave him a quick once over. Young and black, she wore her shield on a chain around her neck and her gun on her hip like she'd been wearing them forever.

"You the Navy cops?" she asked with the same wariness of all local LEOs when agents stomped on their turf.

Gibbs pulled out his badge. "Agent Gibbs, NCIS. We're looking for Lieutenant Welsh."

The wariness didn't leave but the detective introduced herself, "Besbriss," and led them into the bullpen which was, if anything, even noisier. A dozen desks with half as many policemen wrangling more Vikings over the background hum of phones and chatter.

"Busy day, huh?" said Tony with his best charming grin that Besbriss only rolled her eyes at as she headed for the single office with its shades sensibly drawn. Gibbs smiled a little, already liking her.

"This is pretty normal," she said. Then before Tony could try again, she gave the Lieutenant's office door a perfunctory knock before sticking her head in.

"Lieutenant, Navy cops are here."

"Right, right, that assault case solved yet?" Lieutenant Harding Welsh was a big man with a thick accent, the kind of old grizzled cop that had a handshake with nothing to prove. His hard grip was just how he was. The only thing new on his desk was his computer whose keyboard was hidden under a dozen file folders. 

Besbriss shrugged as Gibbs's team followed him in. "Got a meet with a guy in a couple hours."

Welshed waved for her to stay and close the door, focusing finally on Gibbs.

"NCIS, huh?" he said leaning back in his chair. "Someone upstairs told me you lost a Marine."

"We didn't lose him," said Tony. "He went on the run, and now he's got half a dozen hit men after him and evidence that we need to make sure doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"I thought that was the definition of losing someone," said Ziva sotto-voice, but before Gibbs had to slap them, Welsh waved an impatient hand through the bullshit.

"Right, right," he zeroed in on Gibbs. "You think he's in my district?"

"The last phone call he made came from the area around 3045 West Racine," said Gibbs. "We're on a clock and we'd appreciate all the help you can give us." It wasn't exactly a threat, but they both knew who held more cards here with national security on the line. 

Welsh still protested. "What kind of help are we talking about? You see the kind of day I'm having here?" He pointed toward the bullpen. "I don't got enough people to deal with this circus." 

"Ideally we want every beat officer you have knocking on doors," said Gibbs mildly. He could sympathize with shorthanded. "But I'll take as many as you can spare."

Welsh was already shaking his head. "West Racine is in one of my worst neighborhoods. You practically need a visa to walk in there. No way anyone's gonna talk to cops."

"I'm not asking," said Gibbs, starting to get annoyed. Whether anyone talked to them or not they were going to find their missing lieutenant, no matter how impossible this lieutenant thought it was.

"Fraser and Kowalski are still in town," said Besbriss from the corner. Whatever Welsh was going to say next froze on his lips.

"They are? Weren't they supposed to be gone last week?" He looked surprised.

"Huey made them promise to come to a show this trip." For the first time Besbriss smiled, a sharp grin. "And Frannie made Huey and Dewey change their schedule so they're not performing till Saturday."

This time Welsh rolled his eyes. "Of course she did."

"Who are Fraser and Kowalski?" asked Gibbs.

"The answer to your prayers. They're the spare help I got," said Welsh, coming round his desk and opening the door. "Francesca! Get in here!" he bellowed, making McGee who was squashed by the door jump.

"Geeze, Harding, yell a little louder why don't you," said the desk officer who came in a minute later, cramping the small office that much more. She was petite and wore her uniform tailored to show off her curves. When Tony gave her an appreciative once over, she smiled back and fluttered her eyelashes. Even Tim's head was turned, but thankfully, Ziva stomped on Tony's foot, and Gibbs only had to step half a step back to discretely whisper to McGee, "You're staring," while Welsh and Francesca Vecchio, he read from her name tag, had a very loud conversation about how she didn't keep tabs on Ray and Fraser and no of course they didn't have cell phones and would you please just shut up and find them.

In the end Vecchio threw up her hands and left to call her Ma, and Welsh let out a sigh and a half, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"Now that's settled. I suppose you want someplace to work. Elaine, you go with them and get them set up somewhere out of my office," said Welsh waving at Gibbs and his team, done with them now that he had apparently solved all their problems.

Gibbs didn't move. "Who are Fraser and Kowalski?"

Welsh frowned at him. "Two of my old people. If anyone can find your guy in that neighborhood, it's them. Kowalski grew up down that way, and Fraser's Canadian."

A loud clatter, followed by yelling filtered in from the bullpen, and Gibbs paused in what he was about to say. Getting the lay of the land sounded like the better play here. So he nodded to Welsh, who had dug out some aspirin from somewhere, and followed Besbriss back into the mad house. He hoped she found them somewhere quiet.

"What does being Canadian have to do with finding a missing person?" asked Tony as Besbriss led them to a tiny little room with a computer that McGee could set up with. The rest of the team dropped their bags.

Besbriss just smirked from the door, "You'll see."

* * *

“We’re on vacation!” Ray pointed his finger at Fraser before he could protest. “Unless, you’re about to say, yes, Ray, we’re on vacation, lets go get hot dogs, I don’t want to hear it.”

“We went and got hot dogs yesterday, Ray, and I don’t think you should be eating processed meat two days in a row.” Fraser was pointedly staring straight ahead through the windshield, and Ray would have banged his head against the wheel if he wasn’t driving -- and if he wasn’t used to this happening all the freaking time. “Besides, you were just saying that you were bored.”

“And I meant, bored, as in lets go hole up in our hotel room and entertain each other, not bored, lets go help the feds track down some guy in one of Chicago’s most dangerous neighborhoods.”

“Yes, well.” Fraser scratched at his eyebrow, face reddening even after all their years together. “It’s less dangerous than our patrol route through the tundra.”

“Don’t give me that. We’ve talked about your sense of danger. And yes, for the record, it is more dangerous. People are gonna have guns, and we are civilians in Chicago now. Which means we don’t have guns,” said Ray. He planned to have a chat with Welsh about that.

“Yes, but I used to live just a few blocks away,” said Fraser as if that were a perfectly legitimate counter argument. And for Fraser, Ray had to admit, it kind of was, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t resent having prime nookie time stolen just because Welsh asked them to help out a bunch of feds breathing down his neck. Apparently he was having Viking problems. 

“And you used to coach boxing just south of there,” added Fraser, which okay, point to him. That didn’t mean Ray had to like it.

They arrived at the 2-7, and Ray ignored Fraser in favor of finding parking for the rental. The station hadn’t changed a bit. It was still noisy and chaotic, and Ray had to admit it felt good walking back in the door, a bit like coming home. He glanced at Fraser to see if he was feeling it too, and wasn’t surprised to see him already smiling happily and greeting the desk sergeant by name. Christ, it’d been almost eight years since they’d gone north, and he still knew every face in the house.

Then there was a face that Ray recognized. “Elaine, hey!” He grinned, happy to see her looking so good. Not just a proper cop now but a detective and everything.

“Hey, Ray.” She gave him a hug, then one to Fraser when he finally quit gabbing with the desk sergeant. “Sorry to call you in on this, but we’re short today, and the feds were about to take off by themselves.”

“The Leftentant said you were having a problem with Vikings?” said Fraser as they followed her to the bullpen.

Elaine waved a hand at the tall, helmeted women seated on every surface. Definitely like coming home. 

Some new kid was sitting at their old desk, talking on the phone and looking as harried as Ray had always felt. It was a stark difference from their post up north where it had been the two of them for the last five years plus whatever rookie they got sent on rotation. It was quiet up there, mostly peaceable, though with a different set of problems, and run by Fraser’s anal retentive self. This? This was what being a cop on the streets was about.

Elaine went off to retrieve the feds while they went in to see Welsh. He still kept his blinds drawn and he didn’t smile when they let themselves in. “I thought you guys got outta here already.”

“Francesca made a very convincing argument that we should stay and see Huey and Dewey’s comedic performance,” said Fraser, coming to parade rest even though he was in jeans and a button down flannel shirt. He held his stetson behind his back.

“Yeah, he got hoodwinked into changing our plans.” Ray threw himself on the couch and rolled his eyes. But when Fraser cut a glance at him full of you-know-the-real-reason, he softened it with a small smile, because, yeah, he did.

Welsh leaned back in his chair. “So how’s Canada treating you fellows?” which was a great question, because Canada, despite not having the homey, sticky feel of the 2-7, was great. It was greatness because it made Fraser smile like he was smiling right now as he started telling Welsh about their current poaching problem, and as far as Ray cared about anything, that was it, the gold standard.

Fraser was just getting to the caribou part when Elaine was back with a steely haired guy in a blazer and polo shirt, no tie. He cased the room quick and came to the same kind of standstill as Fraser did, except with his hands at his sides. Ray pegged him for an ex-soldier.

Welsh did the introductions. “Gibbs, this is Fraser and Kowalski. You two, this is Special Agent Gibbs all the way from Washington. Navy cop.”

Fraser held out his hand. “Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope Ray and I can be of service.”

The fed didn't smile, looking kind of impatient instead as he gave Fraser the once over. But he shook Fraser’s hand, then glanced at Ray who just waved at Fraser and said, “What he said. ‘Cept I’m not RCMP, technically.”

“Ray consults,” said Fraser as if they hadn’t fought about it for two years before they figured out a way to make it work within RCMP regulations.

“Are you a liaison?” asked Welsh dryly. Ray made a face at him.

Gibbs just said, “We’re set up out this way. We’ll bring you up to speed, then I want to get out there as soon as possible.”

"Of course," said Fraser, and Welsh was already waving them out his dooe. Ray didn't get up right away though, and Welsh didn't chase him out.

"So, Lieu, eight years," Ray said after they stared at each other for a while. "Who do I need to be worrying about out there?" 

Welsh snorted but he was ready. He nudged a stack of file folders on the corner of his desk. "A lotta punks who grew up into bigger punks."

Ray stood and grabbed the files, thumbing through the jackets. He recognized a few names, but the faces were older. Two teenagers he'd known at the community center had grown up into fine young drug dealers.

"I'd feel a lot better if I had a gun on me," said Ray, looking up.

"I figured you'd ask." Welsh pulled his back-up piece out of his desk drawer but didn't let go right away when Ray reached for it. "Last resort, got it? You let Fraser do his voodoo and the feds do the shooting. I don't want to have to fill out a stolen weapon report. That's just embarrassing."

"Last resort, got it," said Ray. "I'll be what's his name, Custer."

"Don't be Custer, just be a consultant. A careful consultant. Who lets the feds do the shooting."

Ray grinned reassuringly, though Welsh rolled his eyes, so maybe it wasn't so reassuring. Fraser would have been reassured. But then Fraser was his own brand of lost marbles.

"Get outta here," said Welsh, shooing him off. Ray got.

It didn't take long for him to hear Fraser's voice -- "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Excuse me." -- and follow it to the back hallway. Ray squinted at the open door where the back half of Gibbs was blocking the door. He was pretty sure --

"I do believe this room actually used to be a closet," said Fraser to someone inside.

Heh. Ray wondered where they'd put all the paper.

On his tippy-toes he could just see over Gibbs's shoulder, but the fed nicely moved for him, arching his brow as he perfunctorily did the introductions. Inside, was a desk with a computer and a laptop on it, along with three other agents and Fraser, who was leaning over as much as he could over the shoulder of the guy at the desk, McGee, who was leaning back as far as he could, which wasn't far with the wall right there. The lady fed, David, was, surprise surprise, checking out Fraser, but the other guy, DiNozzo, was already nudging her.

"Tell me you are not impressed with this guy," he whispered. 

She elbowed him without looking away from Fraser's ass. "You're being rude."

"Uh, boss," McGee awkwardly tried to sit up straighter and see over Fraser's bent back. The look he gave Gibbs was outright pleading, but the fed just tilted his head which had the kid babbling information.

"Abby called. She has the computer cracked, though she hasn't found anything immediately linking Pierson's movements to his last known location. No contacts. But she did find that he looked into plane tickets to South America. I'm looking into possible flights within the next few days."

"His passport's flagged, but I sent his photo to the TSA anyway," said DiNozzo. He flipped open the folder on the desk and handed Pierson's photo to Fraser.

"Ah, thank you kindly," said Frase with his professional smile which startled DiNozzo into smiling back. 

"Could he get fake paper in that neighborhood he's in?" asked Gibbs, turning slightly to look at Ray.

"Sure, he knows who to talk to. You gonna tell us why you're after him?"

"He has evidence that's going to get him killed if we don't find him before a hit squad does."

"And you don't think he's already run?"

"He came here for a reason."

"Though we don't know exactly what that reason is yet," said David. She looked at Gibbs. "Still nothing on his known associates that connect back to the West Racine neighborhood."

"So ground-pounding," said Ray, getting it now. They were out of time to put the pieces together and it was a race now to find him before the bad guys. He could think of better ways to spend his time. "Wish we had Dief," he said to Fraser. The old mutt was too old to travel now.

But Fraser's eyes lit up. "Do you have anything of Pierson's? A shirt perhaps?"

"No…" said DiNozzo slowly.

"Oh. That's too bad."

Gibbs was already turning and heading out, brushing past Ray without so much as a glance or an excuse you. "Ziva, you're with me and Kowalski. Tony, you take McGee and Fraser and find out where he made that call."

The baby feds, as Ray was coming to think of them, all scrambled to grab their stuff, hopping to obey and acting like Ray and Fraser were just going to fall in line without more info than that -- especially if he was splitting up him and Fraser. 

"Hey, Gibbs, hey!" His fist came up, completely, whatsit, involuntary, when Gibbs didn't look back. But DiNozzo and David sure did, giving him the eye. It was starting to piss Ray right off.

"Ray, Ray, Ray."

"I'm not letting you go off with just feds for backup," he said, shaking it off, because that's you did when feds were involved. 

"It makes sense for us to widen the search by splitting up," said Fraser, oh-so-reasonably. Ray hated it when he was reasonable.

"Yeah, well, you still owe me a hotel room, so don't start." But he fell in step with Fraser and got a funny look from David about the whole thing.

"What?" he said to her.

"Nothing." She finished shouldering her knapsack and gave him a slightly twisted smile. Ray had the sudden feeling that she could break him two. "We are grateful for your help." And now she was just fucking with him.

"Gibbs is in a bad mood because we almost had Pierson before he flew the coop," added DiNozzo.

But it wasn't until Fraser said, "Ray, a man's life is at stake," in that way he had that Ray huffed a sigh and followed David into the parking lot.

* * *

Kowalski was asking him questions that Gibbs was ignoring. He'd already explained as much as they could and right now all he wanted to do was find Pierson and bring him in. Without the chatter.

"Where are we going?" he interrupted Kowalski's grumblings about tight lipped feds. The guy had attitude and an interesting vocabulary, or rather, an interesting way of stringing words together. Gibbs could feel Ziva trying to stifle her smile behind his back. 

"The gym." Kowalski glanced at him sideways. "I used to know a few guys there. We'll see if they remember me. And, uh, watch yourself. It's neutral territory, but it's been awhile since I knew the lay of the land."

The streets around them were grimy and littered with trash and graffiti. Homeless men sat on milk crates, and even this early in the day more than a few winos were leaning passed out on their section of wall. At the end of the street, a pack of teenagers in yellow lounged against the brick wall, every eye on him and Kowalski.

"How long have you been gone?" asked Gibbs.

"Eight years," said Kowalski. "But neighborhoods like these have long memories."

"Gangs?" asked Ziva.

"Them too."

"Great," said Gibbs. He was having second thoughts about accepting Kowalski and Fraser's help. So far they'd added nothing his team couldn't have accomplished on their own.

"No, it's good," said Kowalski, shooting him a look. "Gangs watch their territory. They're like wolves, or whatdoyoucallem, mockingbirds. What?" he said when Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him, surprised he even knew what a mockingbird was. He didn't look the type. Kowalski made a motion with his hand. "You ever seen a mockingbird dive bomb a wolf? It ain't pretty." He yanked open the door to the gym and gestured Gibbs and Ziva ahead of him.

Gibbs blinked at him a second, trying to figure out who was the mockingbird and who was the wolf in this little scenario, but all he got from Kowalski was a smile that showed all his teeth. The guy was messing with him.

The gym was seedy and smelled like socks and rubbing alcohol. A boxing ring was front and center with industrial lights hanging from the ceiling. It was early, so only a handful of guys were beating heavy bags and lifting weights. The wall by the entrance welcomed them to fuck off, courtesy of the Rolling 22s in bright pink spray paint. Charming. Gibbs shared a look with Ziva who nodded and stayed put by the door. Every head in the place was already turning to stare.

Kowalski went up to the front desk and rang the bell.

A tall black man came out of the office just behind the desk, his polite smile breaking into a full grin. "Ray Kowalski. Holy shit. I thought you was dead."

"Nah." Kowalski met the manager half way and they hugged and slapped each other on the back. "Moved to Canada."

"Canada? With the Mountie? Shit, how is he?"

"Still licking inappropriate things and telling caribou stories, but doing good," said Kowalski. "You running this joint now?"

"Yeah, yeah. It went belly up for a while with Devlin away. Few years back, some white guy come in looking to tear it down, so someone had to step up."

"What, Devlin's not out yet?"

"He is, but he got old in prison. He still comes around, still looking for the next Ali." The manager's eyes slid to Gibbs and fortunately, Kowalski took his cue and introduced him.

"Levon, this is Gibbs from Washington. He's out here looking for someone stole something he shouldn't and he thinks is hiding out in the neighborhood. Black guy, soldier type. Seen anyone like that around?"

Levon's eyebrows went up. "People come and go all the time," he said, giving Gibbs a wary look.

"Yeah, but this one might be looking for some particular help," said Kowalski.

"We think he's trying to make arrangements to get out of the country," said Gibbs, passing Levon the photo. "He's been flagged so he'll need fake ID."

"I ain't seen him," said Levon, frowning, like wasn't sure, but he wasn't trying to hide it. "He from around here?"

"We don't think so," said Gibbs. Pierson was a Chicago native, but McGee hadn't found any connection to this neighborhood in particular yet.

That seemed to put Levon more at ease. "Soldier, you said?"

"Lieutenant in the Navy," Gibbs clarified.

"Then he's definitely not from around here," said Levon, handing back the photo, his doubts gone. "If he's looking for paper, I know a few guys who might know who to talk to. But you didn't hear from me." He looked pointedly at Kowalski who nodded.

"Of course. Man, you know I got your back."

"Yeah." Levon smiled a bit and gave them two names and addresses where they could find his contacts. Gibbs hoped their next stop gave them a better lead.

"And hey," Levon said to Kowalski as they turned to go. "You should come over before you leave again. Catch up. See if you still got any moves."

"Yeah." Kowalski grinned, fists coming up as he fake punched the air a couple times, bouncing on his toes. "I'll do that."

Gibbs gave him a sideways glance as they met Ziva at the door and left the gym.

"What?" asked Kowalski. "This is what you needed right?"

"You used to come here?" Ziva asked.

"Coached," Kowalski confirmed. "Worked with Levon when he was a teenager. Had to arrest him for murder once."

Gibbs didn't pause his stride but he did look sharply over at Kowalski who waved a dismissive hand.

"He didn't do it. Me and Fraser caught the real guy, but it didn't look good for a while."

The news wasn't surprising, and Gibbs glanced up the street; their watchers were still watching them. "Think they'll give us trouble?" he asked Kowalski.

"Them? Nah," he said, but he remained just as watchful as Gibbs as they turned down the street.

* * *

The two Federal officers Fraser was assisting were very nice. Agent McGee stammered and tried to hold the door open for Fraser even though he had too many things in his hands. Fraser offered to carry the computer case, while Agent DiNozzo rushed ahead to get the engine running in the non-descript sedan that would convey them to Fraser's old neighborhood. He was quite looking forward to it.

While it was true that his return to Canada had been just the ticket to restore his soul, he did have many pleasant memories of Chicago, and of his apartment on Racine in particular. With the exception, of course, of returning to find it burnt to the ground. And the communal bathroom. And the draft under the window.

It had certainly been more comfortable than his office at the Consulate.

"So what can we expect from this neighborhood that has the police all nervous?" asked Agent DiNozzo after they had been driving for a short while.

"Well, when I lived in the area, the poverty rate was quite high and criminal activity was as much a mode of survival as it was carried out with malicious intent. However, the people are actually quite friendly, once you get to know them."

"So we need you around for this because…" Agent DiNozzo took his eyes off the road to raise his eyebrows at Fraser.

"Because he knows where we're going," said Agent McGee.

"After eight years?" DiNozzo was clearly still skeptical.

"I never forget a face," said Fraser reassuringly.

Agent DiNozzo didn't have a chance to reply before Fraser directed him to park since they would have to proceed on foot from here if they were to make any progress at all on the case. Agent McGee took out a GPS locator to zoom in on the exact location of the missing Leftenant when he made his incriminating phone call. The GPS coordinates led them down 62nd street to the little corner pawn shop that Fraser recalled well from his early days in Chicago.

"Okay. I see what you mean about having a friendly face with you," said Agent DiNozzo, looking about.

Fraser glanced about as well, noting the stares their presence had garnered. No one was outright hostile, and he didn't see any of the tell tale colors of gang signs, so Fraser wasn't too worried. Still, they had a man to find. He opened the door to the pawn shop and held it open for the Federal officers.

Agent McGee put his GPS away, and Agent DiNozzo wrinkled his nose. "Nice place," he said. Fraser supposed it was after a fashion. The interior was covered in all sorts of odds and ends and whosiwhatsits, all under -- he sneezed -- a fine layer of dust and -- his nose twitched -- mold.

"Hi." Agent DiNozzo approached the proprietor at the counter. He flipped out his badge and the photo of Lieutenant Pierson. "We're looking for this man. Have you seen him?"

The proprietor, a younger man than Fraser remembered by about twenty years, took in the agents' long coats and Fraser standing in civilian clothing but nonetheless at attention behind them. "No," he said.

"Perhaps, if you looked at the photo," Fraser suggested helpfully.

The proprietor glanced at the photo and then gave them what Ray would surely term a hairy eyeball and said, "Nope. Still ain't seen him."

"Well, that's funny," said Agent DiNozzo, "because I don't see you needing any glasses."

"And we have proof that he made a phone call from the landline in this store," said Agent McGee. "You mind if I check out your phone?" He was already moving toward the counter where the phone sat next to a large, off white computer monitor.

"Hey! I know my rights! You need a warrant to touch that."

"A warrant!" DiNozzo snapped his fingers. "What a great idea!" He looked around the shop speculatively. "That would let us search _everything_ in here, wouldn't it?"

"We really don't have the time to sort through all the merchandise," said Fraser to DiNozzo, giving the proprietor an apologetic smile, while the poor man glared back.

"We're just looking for this guy. Not even to arrest him," said DiNozzo.

"Yeah, right," said the proprietor. "Just need to ask him a few questions, rough him up a little till he talks."

"Oh no, the agents would never do anything so improper," said Fraser looking at DiNozzo speculatively. Feds, as Ray liked to call them, didn't always scruple to follow procedure, but he was certain that these NCIS agents were a decent sort. "I'll make sure of it."

"You ain't one of them?" The proprietor raised an eyebrow in apparent disbelief.

"No. My name is Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture I remained, attached to the Canadian Consulate until I returned to Canada eight years ago. I used to live in this neighborhood in fact."

Both DiNozzo and McGee had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at Fraser, but he barely noticed for at the same time, the proprietor of the pawn shop burst into a wide grin.

"Oh hey! You're that Mountie! My uncle Bill still tells stories about you."

"William Benning?" Fraser, too, smiled brightly, pleased to hear his former acquaintance was still alive and well. "How is he doing these days?"

"Oh, you know. Arthritis and he don't hear so good anymore. He retired last year, but he comes in on Tuesdays to a keep a hand in. Set me and my brother up here."

"It looks like you're doing a very fine job with the place," said Fraser, and leaning in added, "though I do believe you have mold setting in."

"Really?" Bill Benning's nephew glanced around as if he could see it.

"A bleach scrub should do the trick," said Fraser.

"I'll try that."

"Ahem." Agent DiNozzo coughed into his hand, eyebrows at his hairline as he glanced between the two of them. "So… about this guy." He held up the photograph again.

Bill's nephew glanced at Fraser who nodded.

"It's true the agents don't want to arrest him. He got involved with some dangerous men who are looking for him. We are merely trying to find him before they do."

"Then, yeah, sure. I did see him," said Bill's nephew. "He was in here yesterday. He poked around a bit, and I kept an eye out because he looked nervous. I thought he might be looking to buy back something one of his family sold, but he just asked to use the phone. Weird, with everyone having a cell phone these days, but I let him."

"What time was that?" 

"Maybe five, five-thirty? I hadn't eaten dinner yet."

"Did he say who he was calling? Any names?" asked DiNozzo.

Bill's nephew shrugged. "Didn't hear anything. He was real quiet."

"Please," said Fraser. "It's very important."

He looked torn, but finally nodded. "All right. All I heard was he was talking to someone called Maurice about staying over. That's all I got."

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser smiling gratefully. "Do you know who Maurice might be?"

"Nah. No idea," said Bill's nephew.

"Which way did he go after he left?" asked DiNozzo.

"Don't know, man."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Please give my regards to your uncle," said Fraser, tipping his hat.

Fraser and the two agents left the pawn shop and stood for a moment on the sidewalk outside, contemplating which direction they should pursue next. "A gridded search pattern should work, given that the streets are already laid out for us," he said.

But DiNozzo and McGee didn't seem keen on starting right away. The two of them regarded Fraser with a bit of skepticism.

"I'm not sure whether that was good work or you're an alien," said DiNozzo.

"How did you know about the mold?" asked McGee.

Fraser chose to ignore DiNozzo's dig. "The smell," he said to Agent McGee. " _Stachybotrys chartarum _, if I'm not mistaken. I did notice some water damage in the back corner that's indicative of its presence."__

"Really?" said McGee, sounding impressed despite his skepticism. DiNozzo, on the other hand, had little patience for discussing the consequences of compromised plumbing. 

He slapped McGee on the back and said, "Geek out later, McGeek," and propelled him toward the car.

* * *

"Hey! Watch your hands! No need to be rough. I'm here because I'm a very nice, very upstanding citizen -"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up before I kick you in the head."

Ziva gave their guest a shove to keep him moving as they returned to the precinct. She had to say, Kowalski was fun to watch in action. He had a bit of Tony's over the top flair, but he picked up his cues from Gibbs well enough for someone who had never worked with him before. As they had questioned Dawson about his illegal clientele Kowalski had worked the list of local crimes they had him for, clearly enjoying being the Bad Cop. He'd also been nicely surprised when Ziva stepped in as their friend Dawson reached for his weapon below the counter and she showed him what a Badder Cop was.

Kowalski recovered well, too, shooting her a grin and telling Dawson to maybe not try that again as Gibbs secured the gun.

"Hey, Lieu!" Kowalski jogged ahead toward the bullpen. Welsh opened the door to his office.

"You back?"

"Got a small fish, we're frying him in two!"

"What?" Dawson squeaked. But Ziva and Gibbs both turned to the interview rooms on the left. The station only had two of them and no official observation room. Neither door was labelled.

"Come on," said Ziva, steering Dawson toward the door Gibbs was opening. But he pulled back, and Ziva got a glimpse of a Viking woman before he closed it and tried the other one. 

"Place is a nuthouse," Gibbs muttered when the second room was occupied too. "I need this room," he told the detective inside.

"I'm not done yet." Besbriss looked over, her jaw ticking unhappily. But when Gibbs said, "Out," she sighed and got up. "You're lucky we were almost done anyway." The woman she was escorting wasn't cuffed. She had a new bruise on her cheek, and Ziva's assumption that she was a witness was confirmed when Besbriss said, "Meet me at my desk. I'm just going to find the sketch artist."

Dawson started complaining, saying he could wait, and Ziva didn't bother being nice when she pushed him inside. 

"But it's your turn," she said pleasantly as she shoved him into the chair and found the ring on the table to cuff him to. She patted him on the head. "We'll be back soon."

"Are the others back, do you know?" she asked as she and Gibbs met Kowalski on his way back to them.

"Uh, yeah," Kowalski hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Got back a little while ago, someone said. What about our guy?"

" 'Our' guy can wait," said Gibbs.

Kowalski got out of his way and rolled his eyes. "He always like that?" he asked Ziva as Gibbs stalked out, but the irritation that had been there that morning was barely noticeable.

"You'll learn," she told him and followed Gibbs. Behind her Kowalski muttered under his breath about feds all the way back to their closet.

"What do you got?" asked Gibbs as soon as he reached the doorway.

"A moldy old pawn shop," Tony said first. "Pierson was there sometime between five pm and six, according to the owner. He asked to use the landline, talked to someone named Maurice, and left. Whole thing happened in under ten minutes."

"I've already got Abby on the line," said McGee next. "She's cross-checking Pierson's history for anyone named Maurice, and I'm looking at local residences for the name. But since it's a first name and not a last…"

"Find it," said Gibbs, no room for argument.

"Yes, boss," said McGee, hustling to the computer.

"My, you all are efficient," said Fraser. Ziva looked at him sharply, but was surprised that instead of the sarcasm she'd been expecting, Fraser was smiling broadly as if he couldn't be happier. From the way Kowalski, squeezed in beside him, rolled his eyes at him, she reasoned it was a thing with him and not personal.

"Yeah, well, we got an ID guy ready to flip," Kowalski said, and Fraser instead of taking it as a challenge, just smiled wider.

"Wonderful! Shall we go talk to him?" he asked Gibbs.

Kowalski answered him before Gibbs could. "We're consultants, remember?"

"Yes, but that only means that if you kick him in the head, we'd have to arrest you for battery," said Fraser with a smile.

"Does that window between the two rooms have audio?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Yeah," said Kowalski. "Don't know about clearing the room though."

"Do it. You have a few minutes."

"We are letting him marinate," Ziva said when Kowalski raised his eyebrows at them.

"Stew," said Tony.

"I like that," Kowalski pointed at her, that slow grin spreading across his face. He nudged Fraser again, pushing off the wall to try and get out of the tiny room. "We should use that."

"Well, it is similar," said Fraser as they left, "but I think marinate might convey letting a suspect sit in the cold, as apposed to raising the temperature and making him sweat."

"Right, yeah, whatever. We should get some lunch," said Kowalski.

After they'd left, Ziva turned to look at Tony who made a circular motion near his head. "They're a little," he whistled.

"They helped where it counted," said Gibbs, but he glanced at the hall with an expression that bordered on exasperated before turning back to the computer. "McGee. That have Abby on it?"

"One sec." McGee typed quickly and a moment later he turned the laptop so Gibbs could see more easily over his shoulder.

"Gibbs!" Abby's voice was tinny but just as exuberant as usual over the speakers.

"What do you have, Abs?" Gibbs smiled.

"A bad case of missing you guys," she said. "And one Dyson Maurice Lawrence who was in foster care with our lovely Lieutenant Pierson when they were fourteen. Nothing on the hard drive yet though. When he burned it, he did a good job."

"Keep working on it," Gibbs told her.

"Lawrence, got it," said McGee. He had another window open that was quickly scrolling through a database of names until it stopped and highlighted one name and its address. "It's in the neighborhood."

Gibbs bent over and grabbed a pen to copy it down, then kissed his fingers and tapped them on the camera, "Thanks, Abs," before heading back out into the hall. His team hurried after him, Tony snatching the piece of paper out of Gibbs's hand as they walked. "You want us to take the wonder twins over?"

"Take them and sit on him," said Gibbs. "McGee-"

"Warrant. On it, boss." He peeled off as they reached the bullpen to go talk to Welsh.

Gibbs glanced at Ziva as they headed toward the interrogation rooms. "You got this one?"

Ziva just smiled and walked ahead to room two.

Dawson had _stewed_ reasonably well in their absence. He was young, and Ziva thought he must not have been in the business for long if he was this nervous.

She didn't have any files with her so she just sat across from him and slid the photo she did have of Pierson across the table. Dawson had been less than helpful when they'd shown him the same picture at his camera shop. "This will go much easier on you if you cooperate. Do you recognize this man?"

"Look. Like I told you, I've never seen this guy before in my life," said Dawson.

"What about a man named Maurice Lawrence?" asked Ziva.

"Look, lady, people come into my shop, they don't leave a calling card." He barely glanced at the picture before sliding it away.

"Who has been in your shop in the last few days?" asked Ziva. "Looking for illegal papers?"

"Look, I don't -"

"Dawson!" Ziva slapped the table. "Don't be stupid. You lie to me now, and I will be forced to add your business to the warrant my colleague is getting right now and we will tear your place to the ground."

Dawson shut his mouth, unhappy. He stayed silent for a minute, and Ziva let the silence stretch until he finally felt its strain. "There were two guys. Neither left a name. One yesterday, the other today before you showed up. The guy yesterday wasn't your guy, but he asked for a passport. Said he would get me the pictures today."

"And the man who visited today?"

"He was asking questions like you."

Ziva did not like the sound of that. "What did he look like?"

Ziva left briefly to go request the sketch artist and by then Gibbs had a photo of Lawrence that Dawson confirmed was the man who came to see him the day before. He had no sooner started describing the man from today than the sketch artist stopped him.

"I drew this man already," she said.

"What?" asked Ziva.

The sketch artist gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "For Detective Besbriss."

On the other side of the mirror, Ziva heard Gibbs slam into the hallway.

* * *

Tony ended up with Kowalski in the car outside of Lawrence's place while Fraser waited with McGee for the warrant. They didn't want to rush in yet and spook them, and from the look of the windows no one was home anyway.

But while it was quiet outside, in the car Kowalski wouldn't quit asking questions Tony couldn't answer.

"So what did he steal? Nuclear bomb codes? I bet it was nuclear bomb codes."

"It's not the Cold War anymore," said Tony, tuning back in. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Kowalski. "Doesn't mean people still don't steal weapons of, whatdoyoucallit, mass destruction. Nuclear bombs. Nuclear subs. We found one of those once."

"A nuclear sub?" Tony must have heard wrong. Kowalski was tapping his knee and peering out the window.

"Me and Fraser. Our last case for the PD before we took a vacation," he said.

"You're making that up," said Tony.

"Nope." Kowalski turned and flashed him a grin. "I got hypothermia and everything. We tracked the bad guy all the way up to Canada. March the 11th."

"And he had a nuclear submarine?"

"Under the ice." Kowalski jerked his head a little, as if pointing somewhere. "You can look it up."

"Yeah, I'll pass on the brass tacks, thanks," said Tony.

"Whatever. These guys ever coming back?" Kowalski looked back out the window.

"Should at some point," said Tony. "Unless they suddenly got smart."

Kowalski glanced over at him with a disbelieving look that broke into a laugh that Tony couldn't help but join in. "Not a chance." They lapsed into a more comfortable silence.

The street was pretty quiet and there hadn't been a lot of movement in and out of the apartment building across from them. Not too many cars either, though now one was turning onto the street. It was a black sedan, dusty and a little worse for wear, and Tony tracked it as it parallel parked a few hundred feet away. Two young men got out, looking around as they close the doors. Tony lifted up his camera to get a closer look.

"That them?" asked Kowalski.

Tony zoomed in. "Yep. Pierson and Maurice Lawrence. Now where's McGee with that warrant?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

McGee, Fraser, and the warrant we're five minutes out, and by the way, said McGee, the hit men after Pierson we're probably headed over, too.

Which Tony amended to they were right here, right now when a second sedan, this one tan and in much better shape, careened around the corner.

"Great," said Kowalski as four men got out. Tony agreed -- he and Kowalski were not equipped for this. "I'll go stall. You get Pierson," said Kowalski, and he was out of the car before Tony could even ask what he intended to do. Tony didn't hesitate for long though. The hit squad were spreading out: one man positioned himself to guard the front of the building, a second ran around into the alley to cover the back, and three and four, holding their hands inside their jackets unsubtly, headed up the steps to the apartment building.

Kowalski had flipped up the collar on his coat and snatched a bottle in a bag from a homeless man. He put a stagger in his walk, crossing the street and careening right into the back of number three. 

Tony, cursing how he totally did not fit into this neighborhood, angled up the sidewalk to get to the alley where he wouldn't be seen, waiting for his moment. He had to secure bad guy number two in the alley before he disappeared.

Kowalski was managing not to get shot while he did his drunken act out front. Tony took the extra few seconds to call McGee again.

"You better be here now, Probie," he said when McGee picked up. "Cause our hit squad just showed up."

"Already?" McGee's voice did that thing where it went up abruptly in surprise.

"Four of them. Pierson and Lawrence are here too, and if they're smart, they're seeing the commotion happening on their doorstep."

Tony reached the alley and took a quick peek. A dumpster helpfully obscured him from view, but it looked like the bad guy had gone all the way to the back of the building to the wider alley that cut parallel to the street. Damn it. Kowalski was starting to get pushed around by the three out front.

"Fraser says we're really close. Gibbs, Ziva, and Besbriss are on their way too."

Tony assessed his options. "Okay. You guys come around the back. You'll have one guy to deal with. Kowalski and I are stalling out front, but it won't work for much longer." In fact, he could hear that Kowalski was getting pushed off quick now.

"Roger that. We're almost there."

Tony hung up. The two hit men going into the building had gotten past Kowalski who tipped him a look and was now artfully careening toward the guard out front. Tony took a quick look back over his shoulder when he heard a car skidding in the wide alley behind the building and caught a flash of McGee in their rental. With the back covered, Tony ran for the front door after bad guys three and four who had just disappeared inside. Tony really wished he was wearing a vest and a radio, but made do and followed after. The best he could do now was warn Pierson.

He kicked open the interior door of the vestibule but didn't go through. The goons were quietly ascending the stairs. "Freeze! NCIS!" he shouted. Then immediately ducked back into the vestibule when the bullets started flying. In his crouch he couldn't see anything, but only one gun was firing at him, and rapidly receding. Before he had to decide whether or not to chase after the hit men alone, another car screeched to a stop in front of the building. Gibbs, Ziva, and Detective Besbriss tumbled out, Boss shouting "Go, go, go!"

The shooting stopped as soon as Ziva, on point, cleared the outer door. A quick look with her and Gibbs, and Tony was leapfrogging forward, shushing a concerned resident who opened her door and jogging up the stairs.

"There's two of them ahead of us. McGee and Fraser are watching the back," he said his breath coming quickly as they raced for the sixth floor.

"Besbriss and Kowalski are securing the man out front," said Ziva, and they didn't have much time for chatter after that because Gibbs passed both of them at the next landing and they had to scramble to keep up.

"This building really needs an elevator," said Tony. The crack of two shots as they reached the sixth floor landing was plenty motivation to rush the door to Lawrence's apartment. Gibbs barely waited for them to get in position before kicking the ajar door fully open.

"Freeze! NCIS!" he shouted. Only one hit man was readily visible in the apartment, and they caught him with one leg over the window sill to the fire escape. As Gibbs cuffed him, it didn't take long for Ziva and Tony to confirm that the rest of the apartment was empty.

Tony slid out onto the fire escape, but it was clear. Below was the rental, two doors open like wings and Detective Besbriss -- wasn't she supposed to be out front? -- manhandling bad guy number two out of the back seat. There was no sign of McGee or Fraser, just Kowalski with a phone to his ear running like hell away from them, shouting for back up. 

It was only then that movement caught Tony's eye as the angle of the building he was in quit blocking his view. Three figures, a pair out front and one slightly behind with a gun, were sprinting across the next roof over, jumping across the small gap to the next, and then into view ran Fraser in his mountie hat and McGee in his flapping coat chasing after them.

"Boss!" Tony called. "Game's not over yet!"

* * *

McGee's heart was pounding hard in his chest, and it wasn't from the running. It was from the rapidly approaching ledge. He was going to die. He was going to run and jump and miss the next building and fall into the dumpster at the bottom of the alley and Tony was never going to let him hear the end of it. Ahead of him, Fraser didn't hesitate, leaping without his hat even fluttering off. It didn't come off either when he landed in a tight roll on the other roof, spinning to his feet with only an 'oof'.

Then McGee was at the ledge, leaping, landing, trying not to wince as he got to his feet and kept running. 

When they'd pulled up to the scene, the hit man guarding the back had been surprised when they boxed him in and hadn't put up much of a fight. After cuffing him, McGee had been about to call Tony back, when they heard the shots fired, and before McGee could even figure out where it was coming from, Fraser had used the dumpster to jump to the ladder of the fire escape and from there went racing up the stairs.

"Agent McGee," he'd called down. "If you'd kindly provide back up, I'd be much obliged."

McGee had a split second of wondering if he was for real when Kowalski came around the building with Besbriss, took one look at Fraser monkeying away above them -- and now two people stumbling out of a sixth floor window -- and jerked on McGee's collar till he could give McGee a boost to the ladder. By the time McGee caught up with Fraser, another hit man was between them and Pierson and Lawrence.

Now, running across the roofs of a bad Chicago neighborhood, they were gaining on all three. They just had to catch up before they all ran out of running space. 

From below, McGee caught the faint cadence of Kowalski yelling and the strains of sirens closing in. Just like they were. They were almost at the end of the block before a larger road cut them off from the next set of buildings.

Pierson and Lawrence were already slowing. Fraser and McGee were five hundred feet away, three hundred. The hit man slowed, raised his gun. Pierson and Lawrence dove for cover behind an enclosed roof door.

"Freeze! NCIS!" McGee half gasped, pulling his own weapon to bear. But then everyone was firing at once, and bullets were flying at him and Fraser and they had to scramble for their own cover.

"Pierson!" McGee yelled because those shots richocheting off the chimney were coming from the roof door. "We're here to help!"

"Go to hell!"

"Well," said Fraser, not even sounding out of breath, though his chest was heaving. "This is a pickle."

McGee really wished he had a radio as he fumbled out his phone. The sirens were louder, but still not arrived. The hit man probably had a spare clip and between the two of them, McGee guessed Pierson and Lawrence had enough to out gun him and Fraser till back up arrived.

"You've got nowhere to go!" He tried again.

And there -- movement from the roofs they'd just crossed. Ziva and Tony catching up.

"Yeah we do!"

"I wouldn't try the fire escape," called Fraser. McGee took a quick look and crap, they were going for it. The hit man was shooting again, and McGee fired back, giving them covering fire because they needed Pierson alive. But they were still getting away, first Lawrence then Pierson scrambling over the edge onto the upper scaffolding. 

"We should arrest the hired gun," said Fraser as soon as there was a lull in the shooting. McGee could hear the hit man reloading. He glanced back at Ziva and Tony who like the sirens were close but still too far away. They would have to wait, and while they did, Pierson was slipping away again.

"Aha!" said Fraser, his eyes on the ground. "Just the ticket!" He snatched up a chunk of concrete, and with one look to gauge the distance, lobbed it toward the where the hit man had taken cover. As soon as it landed, they heard a solid think and a startled yelp.

Fraser was already moving, and McGee didn't waste time being amazed by the throw and followed quickly. "Freeze!" he shouted as they rounded on the hit man. His forehead had a red mark right in the center but he was still clutching his gun despite the dazed look in his eye. 

"You're under arrest," said Fraser, seemingly unaware of the gun as he approached, but McGee knew, a split second before it happened -- he knocked Fraser out of the way as the hit man fired in a last ditch effort -- the rapport of the gun deafening so close. McGee twisted as he fell, close enough to kick out, snap the gun out of the hit man's hands, raise his own weapon as he landed, and yell, "I said freeze!" 

For a moment all McGee could feel was his heartbeat and Fraser's legs twisted underneath him. The hit man raised his hands in surrender.

After that, it all seemed to easy. McGee rolled off of Fraser and read the hit man his rights. The poor guy seemed to collapse sideways as soon as it was over, like his strings had been cut.

"My head hurts," he said.

"How did you do that?" McGee asked Fraser when they had the hit man on the ground and Fraser was pulling a thin rope from his pocket.

"Physics," said Fraser, neatly looping the cord around the hit man's wrists.

"Physics," McGee repeated skeptically because he knew the math too but that didn't mean he could hit someone with an unbalanced chunk of concrete in between the eyes in the middle of a firefight. Fraser just smiled up at him.

"Good job, Probie." Tony and Ziva jogged the rest of the way over. Ziva split off toward the fire escape, and McGee sighed as he and Fraser pulled the hit man to his feet.

"Pierson and Lawrence got away," he said.

"You sure about that?" asked Ziva.

"What?" asked McGee, confused. But then he heard it, a voice, just audible over the sirens finally arriving below them.

"That's it, no funny business or I'll kick you in the head." And Pierson and Lawrence reappeared over the edge of the building, Kowalski escorting them with a scowl on his face and a gun McGee was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to have.

"Oh, well done, Ray," said Fraser, beaming at Kowalski. Ziva took charge of first Lawrence and then Pierson.

Kowalski rolled his eyes a little but still grinned back. "Like you didn't know I was there. And you so totally owe me for all those stairs," he said, pointing at Fraser. "Should have a goddamned elevator installed in this place."

"That's what I said!" said Tony. McGee, starting to feel the adrenaline crash to go with the sunny, pleased feeling that no one had gotten away and no one had gotten shot, privately agreed.

* * *

It was all over except for the paperwork. And that was waiting for tomorrow. Harding sat back in his plastic chair and took a sip of beer. Ray had dragged them all out to the One Liner after they'd wrapped the whole mess up at the station.

Welsh's office had been crowded with feds and Fraser and Kowalski and Besbriss. It was like old times, Harding mused as he half listened to Elaine tell how her assault case was really the hit squad going after the Navy cops' missing guy. Gibbs was still mum on what they wanted Pierson for, damn feds, but Welsh meant it in the best way since that McGee had saved Fraser from himself and the other two had been there quick enough that Kowalski didn't have to shoot anyone.

Ray had told him so twice when he'd returned Welsh's backup piece. Welsh was impressed in spite of himself.

"So, all wrapped up, nice and neat with a bow, then?" he'd said when everyone had said their piece.

Gibbs smiled faintly, like he didn't want to have a sense of humor -- Marines, he snorted to himself -- and nodded. "We've got our guy. Couldn't have done it without your help. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Make sure you tell it to the FBI how cooperative we are."

This time Gibbs did smile. "Oh, I don't think they'd take it too well from us," he said.

"Yeah?" Welsh couldn't help the grin because nothing was like making friends with people who also hated the Feebs. Gibbs was all right.

Right now, he and his people were at the table shoved up to theirs, relaxed as McGee grilled Fraser on Canadian throwing techniques and David and Ray swapped weird sayings. Ray was teaching her something Canadian, and Christ he was as bad as Fraser with the Inuit stories these days. Gibbs beside him was watching DiNozzo fail to get anywhere with Elaine, shaking his head when she raised an eyebrow and pulled out the story of when she tracked down an actual cat burglar that had stolen nearly eighty cats before a feisty kitten made a break for it.

"You've got a good team," Welsh commented. He'd been impressed in spite of himself at how quickly they'd turned their case around. With help of course.

"The best," said Gibbs. "So what's the story with those two?" He nodded at Fraser and Ray.

"When they worked for me, some days I didn't even know." But Fraser and Ray had been together for eight years now. He shrugged. "Biggest pains in my ass I ever had."

Gibbs gave him a look for that, and Welsh just grinned. He didn't have a chance to say any more. He didn't need to anyway, and he settled back and clapped and cat-called with the rest when Huey finally announced the main act. His station was full of nut jobs. But, he thought, as Frannie took the stage, that's what made them the best too.

* * *

The end


End file.
